


Somewhere Between Death and the Deep Blue Sea

by SmidgeonPigeon



Category: Adventures of Tintin (2011), Tintin (Comics), Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Violence, Gen, Gun Violence, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmidgeonPigeon/pseuds/SmidgeonPigeon
Summary: “What a gentle soul you are,” Tintin remarks in quiet awe, laying a comforting hand between the Captain’s shoulders to steady him.“Don’t touch me, you butcher,” Haddock snarls, piercing the young drug lord with his most hateful glare.Tintin is an elusive high profile drug smuggler.Haddock is a sailor turned police informant after a police raid on the Karaboudjan leaves him with only one chance at freedom.
Relationships: Archibald Haddock & Tintin, Tchang Tchong-Jen | Chang Chong-Chen & Tintin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	Somewhere Between Death and the Deep Blue Sea

**Author's Note:**

> I made a drawing for this because the sheer lack of bad boi Tintin is staggering and it I was really in the mood for it. The following fic was spawned quite by accident, as a result. I you can't beat them, write them, that's what I always say! Actually, no, sorry, I wasn't being entirely truthful just now. That has never been said till now...

Haddock’s kneecaps are screaming bloody murder.

  
He feels something warm streaming down his temple and vaguely registers it as blood. A savage blow to the head has left him feeling nauseous and disoriented.  
The reek of rust, seawater, and sweat thickens the air like a heavy musk. He’s been boarded by the pirates without realizing and woken to find himself trussed up like a turkey.

Adding to the charm of it all, five intimidating brutes encircle him, grinning maliciously.  
They’re standing guard, waiting for something. His heart flutters with fear but he glares defiantly at them. They’re not who he wants answers from so he waits impatiently with them.

The minutes tick by and he looks into each of their bronzed faces, trying to identify the joker who pushed him so forcefully to his knees but the room keeps tilting and they all look like hungry dogs, eager to bleed him.

Finally, the door opens and he hears the light tread of dress shoes approaching from behind.  
Haddock wants to turn but the ship suddenly rolls and it’s all he can do to keep from falling to his side. The footsteps draw closer.

_“Ah, Captain! I apologize for keeping you waiting.”_

A light voice, pleasant and young breaks the wretched silence and Haddock feels himself sit up straighter. A shock of electric blue fills his periphery and within seconds he’s face to face with the ringleader.

The scoundrel he’s been set loose on to bring to justice. The kingpin of the entire blasted opium ring.

And it’s a mere boy.

A full five seconds of stunned silence fill the space between them.

“Not what you were expecting, am I?” Asks the young man with a playful smile.

He crouches down to be at eye level with him, elbows braced on knees attached to legs covered with sensible (if somewhat dated) plus fours, clean well-worn brown leather shoes with impeccable white socks and a bright blue pullover with a crisp white collar. His hair is neat and tidy, a distinctive quiff framing an impossibly youthful face and friendly eyes. He couldn’t look more out of place if he tried.

“Billions of blistering blue barnacles,” Haddock curses in disbelief. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

The young man’s eyebrows furrow and he reaches out a hand to tilt Haddock’s face toward the single light hanging above them.

“Who struck you?” he asks with a grave seriousness. Haddock feels compelled to respond, despite himself.

“I don’t know. Didn’t see.”

Tintin’s eyes don’t leave him as he stands. “Stevens. You must know. Who was it?”

One of the men, a scraggly blonde standing a head taller than the rest, steps forward. He has a scar running down the length of his pockmarked jaw.

“I did, boss,” the man admits, scratching his uneven nose.

“Whatever for?” Tintin asks mildly. The light casts a harsh glow on his refined features, the contrast between their countenances is striking.

“He was being difficult. Took three of us to get him under control.”

“I see. So my orders that he was to come to no harm were ignored in favor of your convenience,” The young man surmises, finally turning to look his subordinate in the eyes.

The men shift uncomfortably, gazes trained on their feet or stealing sidelong glances at Stevens.

Haddock doesn’t know why but he feels a chill as something imperceptible but definite changes in the atmosphere.

Stevens holds his ground. “The old goat decked me in the face,” he defends, throwing Haddock an ugly look.

“Boss, I wasn’t about to-“

He never gets to finish his sentence.

Before the Captain can register what’s happening, Tintin withdraws a revolver and fires a shot clean between the man’s eyes.

Stevens stumbles backwards stiffly before falling like a great tree, his head smashing into a pipe alongside the hull on the way down before lying in a heap like a broken rag doll, eyes frozen in shock.

Nobody dares draw breath and the two men flanking the deceased instinctively take a step away, the fear of death compelling them to avoid a man who can no longer harm them.

Tintin sighs quietly.

“You two, clean this up and await further orders,” he instructs tiredly to the two men closest to the corpse.

“The rest of you, return to your posts. I’d like a word in private with our host,” he orders, tone polite but firm.

The men are quick to obey and in the span of a few seconds they vanish , the heavy metal door bolting shut behind them, leaving only Haddock and Tintin in the room with a trail of fresh crimson blood from where the body was dragged away.

Haddock feels sick. Sicker than he’s ever felt in his life. He’s broken out into a cold sweat, body simultaneously freezing and feverish, head tingly as if his skull is dissolving into sea foam.

Tintin stands still for a moment considering the shell shocked sailor before pocketing the gun and drawing out a white handkerchief.

He crouches by Haddock again who flinches back. Tintin ignores this and with one hand, cups the sailor's face to keep him still while dabbing at the blood coagulating on his temple with the other.

His hands are cold and gentle.

“It doesn’t look like you’ll need stitches. That’s good,” he remarks with a reassuring smile. Then, shaking his head, adds, “Forgive me for the ill treatment you’ve received at the hands of my subordinates. They should know better by now.”

Haddock is going to make sick. He knows it but he’s afraid of what will happen when he does. Will the young man shoot him too for being rude or unsightly?

Tintin frowns. “You’re awfully pale. Do you feel like throwing up?”

Haddock nods, afraid to meet his captor’s gaze.

“Go ahead,” Tintin says, granting him permission. Haddock obliges, retching until his throat burns and he’s left panting and dry heaving.

“What a gentle soul you are,” Tintin remarks in quiet awe, laying a comforting hand between the Captain’s shoulders to steady him.

 _“Don’t touch me, you butcher,”_ Haddock snarls, piercing the young drug lord with his most hateful glare. He carries on, rage heating his blood and loosing his tongue.

“Confound it! You had _no right_ to kill that man. Shooting him as if-as if he were a _rabid dog_ of all things! Blistering barnacles, that’s too much! You-you-you _fancy pants flesh peddler!_ What would your poor old mother say, eh? You ought to be _ashamed_ of yourself.”

Tintin blinks at him in genuine surprise. Haddock catches his breath as the cruel reality of his situation sinks in.

 _Aaaand there it is._ That’s it. Now he’s done it. Never could keep his mouth shut when it made sense to. Always had to pick all the wrong fights at the wrong times and now he’s gone and-

_Laughter_

The young man sits back on his heels and laughs unreservedly.

_Eh?_

His shoulders shake, arms suddenly wrapped around himself as if to brace his slender body against the joy. The peals of laughter are clear and light, like the bubbles in a glass of champagne rushing to the surface.

Haddock gapes at him, dumbfounded. Tintin continues laughing for several minutes before he’s able to regain control of himself, tears glimmering in the corners of his eyes. He looks at Haddock with a kind of fondness that makes the sailor feel like he’s well and truly gone mad.

“ _Aha...hah_...what an extraordinary man you are, Captain,” Tintin gasps out as the laughter subsides, leaving him slightly breathless.

“Really. What am I to do with you?” Tintin muses out loud.

“You can let me go, for starters,” Haddock snipes, amazement giving way to an indignant anger that’s winning over the fear.

“I have a better idea,” Tintin says thoughtfully, pushing himself onto his feet. Haddock watches him warily.

The young man nods at him, saying, “I recently find myself short on a first mate. The position become available as of a few minutes ago and I would like you to fill it, Captain.”

**Author's Note:**

> The scene where Tintin asks Haddock to think of his mother when they meet in "Crab with the Golden Claws" really stands out to me for some reason so I wanted to pull a reverse switchy-switchy and have Haddock run the same question by Tintin albiet in a more enraged manner. ^^
> 
> Please leave a verbal tip in the form of a comment if you enjoyed the beginning and wanna see more! <3 It encourages and makes writers want to write more, truly! :)


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